


these violent delights (have violent ends)

by 0mens



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Canon Divergent, Fred Lives, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:28:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1993248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0mens/pseuds/0mens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love isn't rational. Neither are homicidal maniacs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	these violent delights (have violent ends)

**Name:** Chris  
 **Title:** these violent delights (have violent ends)  
 **Fandom:** Harry Potter  
 **Word Count:** 3,904  
 **Genre:** Angst like whoa, Mystery.  
 **Rating:** T for now. May go up.  
 **Summary:** Love isn't rational. Neither are homicidal maniacs.  
Title from Romeo and Juliet; Act 2, Scene 6. 

 

............

_passion is a positive obsession. obsession is a negative passion._  
 _― paul carvel_

............

 

**MURDER MOST FOUL! BODY FOUND IN DIAGON ALLEY!**

**_By Rita Skeeter  
The early Hippogriff gets the mouse, as the saying goes, but this morning daylight brought not only the early morning bargain hunters to Diagon Alley, but a most gruesome sight. Lying on the cold ground outside of Madame Malkin's the body of a young woman was discovered by a store clerk on her way to open up for the day. The name of the victim has yet to be released to the public, but already several different accounts have made the rounds in regards to the state of her brutal slaying._**

The headline screamed out at her from the front page of the Prophet – mostly to do with the overuse of exclamation points she supposed – as soon as Hermione had unrolled the paper. Sipping her tea, Hermione sat down at her kitchen table and skimmed the article. Words and phrases leapt forward at random: blade, drained of blood, deep gashes, dumped, and she felt her empty stomach roll. 

Murders like these – bloody, violent – rarely happened in the magical world. In truth, nothing of this sort sprang to her mind save for the detailed account she'd read a few years ago of Helena Ravenclaw's murder. Bellatrix Lestrange had been bloodthirsty, but seldom did she do with a knife what she could do with a wand. 

Only in special cases, Hermione mused, touching the faint letters marring her forearm. 

And it was just like Rita Skeeter to be the first to stir up a frenzy over such a tragedy.

She was pulled from her thoughts by a loud knocking – no, banging – on her front door. Startled, she set down the paper and made her way through the house.

“Hermione! Hermione, it's us.”

She unlatched her locks in a hurry, pulling her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown to undo the warding spells she put in place before bed every night. “Harry? Ron?”

The door was barely opened when she felt herself engulfed by a pair of arms. Harry had taken hold of her and pulled her in against him so tightly, her face buried in his chest, she was certain she would suffocate right there in her doorway. “Harry,” she mumbled, pushing to extricate herself from his hold. “What's going on?” She turned toward Ron, only yo have him hug her in much the same manner – perhaps a touch less urgent. 

“Okay, stop.” With her arms crossed over her chest, she glanced back and forth between them. Both were pale, paler than normal, and covered head to toe in dirt and mud that was falling away to land on her clean carpet. “What's happened?”

“Haven't you seen the Prophet this morning?” Ron asked, seemingly bewildered. He shot a look at Harry, who's jaw was clenched so tight Hermione wondered that it didn't shatter. 

“Of course I have, but I didn't get to finish it.” At that, Ron looked just the slightest bit sheepish. Harry however, he still had his eyes trained on her like he was afraid she would vanish in a moment. “Is this about that awful murder?”

Neither of them spoke, and a cold sweeping dread crept up Hermione's neck. Something was wrong here, terribly wrong. “Come in, tell me what's the matter.” She took their coats and they followed her obediently through to the kitchen. Settling themselves at her table, Ron nibbled quietly at a piece of bacon and Harry glared daggers at the teacup ensnared in his tight grip. Hermione tucked the paper away quickly, sitting down across from the two of them. Crookshanks wound around her legs, meowing apparently for a lack of anything better to do. 

“So...” she prompted, her eyes flicking between them. 

Clearing his throat, Ron began. “This wasn't the first murder.”

Hermione started. She'd had no idea...

“It's all been hushed up,” he went on, fidgeting in his chair as though he were still eleven years old and Hermione was the scariest thing he'd ever come across outside of his mother. “We were afraid it was a Death Eater, somebody we'd missed. The Ministry wanted to avoid a panic until we knew more. The first girl, she was a Muggleborn. Just left Hogwarts last year. And then the second one turned up a few days later, but this one was Half Blood. Dad's a Muggle – something called a... Harry, what's that word?”

“Chiropractor.” Harry ground the word out as though it caused him actual pain. “Both of them were left inside their homes,” he said, “but then today... she was just lying there in the middle of the street like a sweet wrapper.” His eyes, when he lifted them up, were bright and glittering with a rage Hermione hadn't seen in years. 

Without thinking, Hermione leaned across the table and covered his clenched fist. “You'll find him.”

Finally, something in Harry relaxed. His hand slacked, and he turned his palm up so Hermione could wrap her fingers around it. She gave him a small smile, then turned it to Ron. He gave her a weak grin in return. “I appreciate the concern,” she told them, “but I'm fine.” 

If there was a rogue Death Eater out there killing Muggleborns, Hermione knew she was a prime, high-profile target. And while she wasn't foolish enough to believe she would be able to fend off such an obviously vicious attacker, she was more than capable of taking care of herself. Harry and Ron were both well aware of the fact. She opened her mouth to tell them as much when Harry held up a hand to stop her. 

“There's more.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a large Ministry issue folder and laid it on her table. The bright gold M embossed on the front gleamed in the early morning light. Knowing Harry, and having taught him the spell to expand his pockets and bags herself, she wasn't surprised that he'd used it to smuggle a confidential Auror file out of headquarters, or that he'd share it with her. What did surprise her was the grim set to his mouth and the uncharacteristic quiet Ron was displaying. “The girl this morning, she looked like you. For a second we were certain she was you.”

A large lump formed out of nowhere inside of Hermione's chest and lodged itself in her throat. That explained it. 

Pulling the folder forward, Hermione flipped it open, face averted so neither of them would see the tears gathering in her eyes. The first photo was of a girl, around eighteen at most, with a bright cheery smile and a small beauty mark to the right of her nose. The second was of the crime scene, and the vacant eyes looking back up at Hermione stole the breath right out of her lungs. Side by side they didn't even resemble the same person.

But the first one bore more than a passing resemblance to Hermione. It was easy enough to see why Ron and Harry could have thought it was her; though her hair was much darker, it tumbled down over her shoulders in a mass of curls, and the face shape and line of her jaw was almost identical to Hermione's own. 

She and this girl could have been sisters. The thought slammed in to her with all the force of a freight train and Hermione's blood ran cold. 

“Just...” Ron began, breaking off and looking helplessly at Harry. Meeting Hermione's gaze, Harry eyes pleaded with her to _please_ listen to them. “Be careful.”

“Of course.”

............

A thick stack of papers landed on Hermione's desk with a dull _thunk_. Startled, she glared up at Justin Finch-Fletchly and pursed her lips. “Was that necessary?”

“We're a week behind on paperwork,” he said. Straightening his tie with a fussiness that would have made Percy Weasley roll his eyes, Justin waved an imperious hand over the bundle of parchment. “These are due in before end of day, just in case you forgot.”

A headache was forming behind Hermione's eyes. Justin usually let her have at least one cup of tea in peace before he started in. He was determined that they be the most efficient Junior Aides in the department, and made no excuses for anything that he found to be a detriment to that. But this time all of his harping was for naught. Pinching the bridge of her nose to try and stave off the twinges in her head, Hermione sighed. “If you had bothered to ask me, I could have told you that I finished all these forms and turned them in. Yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

“While you were discussing the best types of ink for which parchments with Padma,” Hermione informed him. “So you went upstairs and got all these for nothing.”

Several seconds passed as he tried to think of a retort. Hermione could practically see the gears turning in his head. For all his so-called good intentions, Justin failed to grasp the fact that she was very capable of doing her job without his help. Ron had often speculated that he was still in denial over the fact that Hermione had gotten more N.E.W.T.S. than him, and his continued inability to perform some complicated spells that Hermione had mastered long before leaving school. 

Harry was of the opinion that Justin was just terrified that she was going to be promoted before he was. 

As for Hermione, she couldn't figure out where all the animosity had come from. There were times at school when things between the two of them had gotten a little icy, but that had been about Justin's and his friends' attitudes towards Harry. But that was all eventually forgotten and they'd gotten along fine for the most part. 

That apparently did not carry over into their work though. In that area, Justin's competitiveness eclipsed his manners and he often went days at a time without so much as a single civil word to her. 

A bright flush had spread up Justin's neck, setting in his cheeks. His eyes looked impossibly bright under his dark hair, glittering with anger, but just as he opened his mouth to no doubt say something nasty, Ernie Macmillan rapped on the door frame. “Bad time?”

Hermione grinned. Ernie had apologized several times for his friend's behaviour, and often stopped by throughout the day to make sure one of them hadn't hexed the other into oblivion. She was always happy to see him, but rarely as much as she was at that moment. “Not at all. How are things up in Games and Sports?”

He shrugged, settling on the edge of Justin's desk. “Same as ever. Seamus is trying to expand Quidditch season again, but that's a losing battle. What's new down here?”

Stirring himself from his indignation, Justin snorted. “Hermione has once again taken it upon herself to try and make me look foolish.”

Anger flared up in Hermione's chest and she shot to her feet. “Now see here-”

Ernie jumped in between them. “Let's everybody calm down. You guys are partners, remember?”

This time the snort came from Hermione. “We share an office. That's it.”

“On that we are most definitely agreed,” Justin snapped. With a huff, he went back over to his desk and sat down – without the stack of forms he'd plopped onto her desk. 

A myriad of responses sprang to her mind, but before she could voice any of them, a bright head poked into the office and drew her attention. “Hey, you got a minute?”

“We have work to do.” Justin glared daggers at Bill, the sort he usually only reserved for Hermione and Draco Malfoy. 

Ugh. Hermione really did loathe him at times. “Absolutely,” she said, with a lofty air that was not lost on any of the three men as she proceeded to scoop up the bundle of parchment Justin had brought in and dropped it unceremoniously on his desk on her way out of the office. 

“I see things haven't improved between you two,” Bill commented dryly. The two of them dodged around zooming inter-office memos and robed figures as they wound their way to the tea trolley at the end of the corridor. “What's got his knickers in such a twist anyhow?”

A small smile twisted Hermione's lips. At least she had some allies around. “He's absolutely panic-stricken that I'm going to do better than him. At first I thought it was just him and that he'd be like that with anyone in my position, but I'm beginning to take it personally.”

“Want me to beat him up for you? I have six younger siblings remember, I'm good at that sort of thing.”

Laughing, Hermione helped herself to a chocolate scone. “Maybe some other time. What'd you come all the way up here for?”

Bill sighed. “The goblins are refusing to open accounts for other magical creatures who've taken jobs – especially house elves. I was hoping there was something on the books that could help me convince them.”

“Convince them or force them?”

Now he smiled at her. “You know me too well.”

She shrugged one shoulder casually. “I've gotten very adept at reading into the ulterior motives of Weasley men.”

Bill tipped his head back in laughter. Several passers-by turned to look at the two of them. Some of the women shot dreamy looks in his direction. Scars or not, Bill had only gotten better looking as he got older and attention always flooded his way. 

“My my,” an acid-tinged voice cooed behind them, “doesn't this look cosy.”

All the levity in the room was sucked out in an instant. Hands on her hips, Hermione turned towards the voice and felt her eyes narrow in and involuntary display of supreme dislike. “This is a private conversation.”

Rita Skeeter's eyes were big and malicious behind her bejewelled glasses. The smile she levelled at Hermione and Bill was cold and deliberate beneath a heap of shiny red lipstick that Hermione could almost see herself in and her ever present Quick Quotes Quill trailed dutifully behind her like a pet. “Come now children. We're all friends here.”

Bill harrumphed and rolled his eyes without the slightest bit of discretion – and Hermione loved him for it. He may have been the only person in the world who disliked the woman as much as Hermione did and he never made any effort to hide it. 

“What are you doing here, Rita?” Bill snapped. “Don't you have an upstart Quidditch groupie to exploit somewhere?”

“Now William, I happen to be the official Daily Prophet liaison to the Ministry of Magic – as you well know. I have every right to be here.”

With a sour look on his face, Bill crossed his arms over his chest, fixing a flat, unimpressed stare on Rita who, of course, didn't bat an eye.

“This is the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. What scandal could you possibly uncover up here?”

“Oh I don't know.” Rita smiled gleefully. Like a child that had just caught a beautiful butterfly in the summer and then promptly pulled the poor thing's wings off. “Discord among Ministry officials.” Rita's eyes swivelled toward Hermione and then back to Bill. “Prejudice at Gringott's. One never knows.”

“And unless you let us get back to work, that prejudice may win,” Hermione snapped. “They may even start refusing Anamagi next.”

That did the trick. Nine years later and the slightest hint of a reminder that Hermione had figured out Rita's secret and exposed her was all it took to wipe the smug smile off the older woman's face. Spinning on her stiletto, Rita flounced away in a cloud of perfume, her curls bouncing and muttering under her breath. “Uppity little bint.”

Bill chuckled. “Nicely done.”

“Thanks.” Hermione tossed the remains of her scone in the bin. Rita Skeeter had a way of ruining her appetite. “I'll look into the goblins. I'm sure there's a precedent somewhere.”

Gathering up a napkin full of food, Bill ruffled her hair affectionately. “You're the best, Hermione. See you at the party tonight?”

“Wouldn't miss it.”

............

“It's a quarter till.”

Hermione looked up. Justin was staring at her, and judging from his expression, he was more disgruntled than usual.

“I do have a clock, thank you. No need to tell me the time.”

He scowled. “Work ends at six. Where do you think you're going?”

Double checking that she had the folder of notes she'd jotted down for Bill in her bag, Hermione pulled her coat on and stood. “I'm leaving. And before you get all huffy, I've already cleared it with Penelope. So tattling on me won't do any good.”

Face turning a highly unattractive shade of purple, Justin spluttered at her, making vague motions in her general direction. He looked not unlike an angry bird of some sort with all his flapping. “So you're just going to swan out of here early, leaving me with all the work, so you can what – go out with some clod Potter set you up with?”

“Leave Harry out of this,” she snapped. “If you hadn't been so busy hitting on Padma Patil all day you would have finished your work. Like I did.” Stalking to the door, Hermione turned back, adding, “And Padma has a boyfriend. Just so you know.”

The last part was said with more spite that Hermione thought herself capable, but at the moment couldn't quite bring herself to care. She had made her mind up to ask for a transfer first thing Monday morning. Enough was enough.

“Hey, Hermione.” Ernie gave her an easy grin as she came to a stop at the lifts. “You guys been at it again, huh?” 

Something must have shown on his face, for usually the people in her department were all very friendly and wished her a good weekend. But so far none of them had even spoken a word as she had slammed out of the office and stomped down the corridor, pressing the poor lift button mercilessly. Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned heavy against the wall. “I don't know how you put up with him. He's more horrible every day.”

Quick to defend his friend, Ernie gave her an earnest, pleading look. “He really is a good guy,” he insisted. “He's just never gotten over his jealousy of you and Ron and Harry. Especially you. We all have things we never grow out of.”

“I suppose,” she conceded. “I just hoped we could have sorted things out by now.” The lift dinged, doors flying open and she stepped inside. “You have any big plans this weekend?”

“Nah. Just trying to calm him down I suppose. You?” 

“It's Fred and George's birthday. There's a party at Percy's.”

It may have been her imagination, but for the briefest of seconds, Hermione could have sworn she saw something swirl in Ernie's eyes. But it must have been the flickering of the overhead light. “Sounds fun. Give them my best.”

She nodded, smiling at him as the lift whisked her down and out of sight.

............

The party was in full swing by the time Hermione arrived. She'd stopped off at home to change clothes, preferring to be a little more comfortable around her friends. Percy and Audrey had decked the house out in honour of the twins' twenty-fifth birthday, and she giggled to see Fred wearing a Muggle party hat atop his flaming hair. George was holding Victoire in his arms as he chatted with Fleur. The baby kicked her little legs, grasping at one of the sparkly decorations that floated by. A large silver G knocked against Hermione's shoulder and she batted it away in good humour. It twirled away, colliding with a gold F and raining glitter to the floor. 

Feeling her gaze, Fred looked up and beamed at her. “Granger! You made it.” Excusing himself from his brother and sister-in-law, he made his way to her, taking her coat and hanging it by the door. “From what Bill was saying I was afraid that Hufflepuff git would try and harangue you into staying late.”

“I don't want to talk about him.” She handed him one of two small gift bags she'd brought with her. “Happy birthday.”

Fred's smile warmed, losing his usual trickster humour in favour of genuine good will. “You didn't have to get us anything.” But he dug into the bag nonetheless. “1001 Hexes, Jinxes, and Antidotes You've Never Heard Of. Oh this is brilliant.” He planted a large smacking kiss to Hermione's cheek and flipped the book open. “Ooh, this is great stuff. Thanks, Hermione.”

She smiled. Perhaps her first truly happy smile of the entire day. It was just so hard to let a bad mood linger around Fred and George. They had a way of making the small, niggling stuff of everyday life seem so insignificant. “Just don't get into too much trouble with it.”

Fred winked at her. “I make no promises.”

Laughing, Hermione rolled her eyes and made her way over to George. 

Almost two hours later, deep in conversation with Lee and Neville about a new plant said to aide in the extreme reactions of Muggleborns to wizarding illnesses, Hermione saw Harry and Ron arrive. 

It wasn't unusual for them to be running late; Aurors were always on call and Harry and Ron were shaping up to be two of the most determined in the entire department. After everything they'd seen at school and during the war, both of them seemed hell bent on catching any and every dark wizard still out there. The smear of dirt down the side of Harry's face wasn't unusual either – he tended to get a little absent-minded when working. 

What was unusual however, was the looks on their faces. As dedicated as they were to their job, and as good as they were at it, they were both very good at leaving it at the office. But now they looked every inch Aurors on duty, and not boys on hand for a party. Bypassing the hosts and guests of honour entirely, they made their way towards her. 

“Hi guys,” Harry greeted Neville and Lee. “It's good to see you, but we really need to speak with Hermione.”

“Of course,” Lee nodded. “See you later.”

He and Neville wandered off, and Hermione tried to fix her attention on Harry and Ron, but felt eyes on the three of them from all around the room. She caught Fred looking at them, open interest on his face. 

Feeling herself flush at the attention, Hermione gave them her full attention, noting the serious looks on their faces. The two of them never looked serious with a good reason. “What is it?”

Sighing, Ron scrubbed a hand over his face. “Kingsley wants us to bring you in immediately.”

That was not what she'd been expecting to hear. “Now? Why?” She looked to Harry. He looked as worried as she'd ever seen him – and that was saying something.

“He wants to ask you some questions.” A beat. “There's been another murder.”

..........


End file.
